Good Times Gonna Come
by Holly's Mean Reds
Summary: "Molly tries as hard as she can to not care. She looks into the mirror, into the only eyes that'll face her, and finds sobs wracking her body." Molly/Sherlock friendship  maybe more . T for future chapters  if there are any .


Author's Note: I've never written fanfic for Sherlock, but I love/am obsessed with the show. I've always found Molly a fascinating character with so much potential, so let's hope that they make her more than a gag next series. (I know that I have other stories that I am totally ignoring, but I got a laptop for Christmas, so I should be writing more.)

Yeah, and I really don't know where this came from, so it might be weird or whatever.

**By the way, I am American, but I tried to use British lingo. Hence, the use of the word "plaster". Which, if you're American, like me, is the same thing as a band-aid.**

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Molly tries as hard as she can to not care.

Not when Sherlock skillfully avoids her coffee invitations. Not when her cat decides to use her _very_ expensive couch as a scratching post. And, especially not when she finds out that her boyfriend is actually a psychopathic murderer.

She tries _really_ hard to not care about that one.

Strangely enough, no one seems to really care about her, either.

Molly gets to work after having the (awful, _terrible_) truth told to her several days before. After walking through the doors of Barts, no one looks her in the eye, and if they do, they quickly look away, almost in fear that she'll have a panic attack or something.

Which is exactly what happens.

She can't stop thinking about everyone watching her when she's not looking and the pitying whispers and the lonliness, so she ducks into a bathroom and locks it behind her.

She was told that she should take time off because 'these sort of things happen', but she doesn't want to be small or meek anymore. But, it happens anyway.

Short, shallow breaths that Molly can't get under control leave her body. Molly grasps at her throat as if some invisible hands are grabbing her. She thinks about what her father used to tell her mother.

_Try to take a deep breath._

Molly follows the invisible voice's instructions and shakingly breaths slowly through her nose.

After some more breaths, Molly feels light headed and decides that she has it under control.

She looks into the mirror, into the only eyes that'll face her, and finds sobs wracking her body.

When Molly is safe inside the morgue, she decides to forget about what just happened.

This cold, impersonal room is her strange safe haven.

Molly puts on her white lab coat and snaps on a pair of gloves. Walking over to the desk in the corner, she picks up her clipboard.

_Female, 32, car crash._

Molly looks up and frowns to herself. She didn't want an easy one today.

Fortunately, Molly's sour mood is broken when she hears the door burst open and quick footsteps enter the room.

She turns around, keeps her face blank.

Sherlock stands near the desk, eyeing her clipboard. His face breaks into a grin as he reads it.

_I probably have someone he needs._ Molly thinks to herself.

She studies Sherlock. She couldn't exactly grasp why she was so attracted to him, but she has some sort of understanding of it. He's blown her off plenty of times, but, maybe that's what keeps her coming back. Not the fact that he's something she can't have. No, it's because he never changes. She knows he'll say no, and the knowledge that that won't change is wonderful for her. He'll never disappoint her, not really, because she knows just what to expect from Sherlock Holmes.

Molly realizes this weeks ago, even when she's still dating-

She exhales and looks down at the ground, fist slightly bunching.

"Problem?" His voice wraps around her and pulls her up.

Molly looks up and gives a small shake of the head. "No." Adding quickly, "I thought I was going to sneeze."

Sherlock slightly brings his head up, doing that thing he does when he knows she lying. She expects him to call her out on it, but he brings his attention back to her clipboard.

"I need to see Alexandra Hill, the car crash victim." He says.

Molly almost says, _She's on my list_, but quickly remembers he has it right in front of him.

"Okay." She nods, walking over to where the bodies are kept and slides the woman out. "Sorry she's not on the table yet. I just got here." Molly apologizes.

"It's fine." Sherlock says, looking down at the dead woman. "I just needed to look at the body quickly." Sherlock bent down to eye-level with the body, eyes roaming.

Molly stands to his side, waiting for him to finish, until something catches her eye.

On his neck, Molly can see something slightly hanging off.

"Sherlock?" She says. He turns to her, irritation evident on his face.

"_What_?" He asks.

Molly gestures to his neck. "You've got something on your neck."

His hand feels around at the nape, and he brings it down. "It's just a plaster." He says, shooting a look at her.

"It was falling off."

Molly didn't really notice many injuries on Sherlock or Dr. Watson after the explosion. When she had asked, John said that they had jumped into the pool. But, they had acquired some minor cuts and bruises, much like the one Sherlock has now.

"Where's your scarf?" Molly asks, noticing the absence of blue.

"I forgot it at my flat." Sherlock says, clearly upset at that idea.

Molly 'hmms' a response, walking over to pick up her clipboard.

"I need a blood test for paralytic agents for this woman," he waves his hand at the cadaver, "including the really interesting ones." He begins to walk towards the door. "Text me when you get the results!"

"Wait!" Molly calls, going to the cabinets. Sherlock stops and turns around, waiting for her to continue. She pulls out a small box and takes out a small plaster. "I thought you'd want a new one."

Sherlock looks as if he's going to berate her for stopping him to offer something as stupid as a plaster, but he stops and nods his head. He takes off his coat, walks over a stool and sits down on it. "Well?" He asks after a few seconds. "Go ahead."

"You want me to put on you?"

"No, I'm just sitting here for my own amusement."

Molly takes off her gloves and unwraps the plaster. She walks over to Sherlock.

"Lean your head forward." She says.

He does so, and she lines the plaster up so it'll cover his wound.

As she sticks it on, she says, "I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt in the explosion."

She doesn't think Sherlock is going to even acknowledge what she said, but he surprises them both by saying, "Thanks."

A beat passes. She pats his neck as if to say, 'There, all done.'

Sherlock abruptly begins to speak. "I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt. By him. Moriarty." Molly is silent. "You weren't, were you?" He asks, uncertain, a sound that Molly isn't even sure she's heard before.

"I'll live." Molly says.

Neither of them say anything.

Unable to bear the silence, Sherlock stand up and gathers his coat up.

When he gets to the door, he turns around to face Molly. To look her in the eye.

"John has a _date_ tonight, so I'll probably be here." Quickly adding, "To work on the blood sample and such."

Molly nods. "I'll probably be here, too."

Sherlock lingers and a slight awkwardness settles around them.

"Well…goodbye." And, with that, Sherlock left.

When Molly turns around, she smiles to herself.

Smiles at the thought that maybe Sherlock Holmes can change.

And, maybe Molly does care about things.

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**Hopefully you all enjoyed that!**

**Please leave a review. (I said please. :D)**


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